Bivouac of the dead
by danthefan2015
Summary: The Events in Libya brings a poem to the cheerleader chara's mind.


**The muffled drum's sad roll has beat**  
><strong>The soldier's last tattoo;<strong>  
><strong>No more on Life's parade shall meet<strong>  
><strong>That brave and fallen few.<strong>  
><strong>On fame's eternal camping ground<strong>  
><strong>Their silent tents to spread,<strong>  
><strong>And glory guards, with solemn round<strong>  
><strong>The bivouac of the dead.<strong>

**No rumor of the foe's advance**  
><strong>Now swells upon the wind;<strong>  
><strong>Nor troubled thought at midnight haunts<strong>  
><strong>Of loved ones left behind;<strong>  
><strong>No vision of the morrow's strife<strong>  
><strong>The warrior's dreams alarms;<strong>  
><strong>No braying horn or screaming fife<strong>  
><strong>At dawn shall call to arms.<strong>

**Their shriveled swords are red with rust,**  
><strong>Their plumed heads are bowed,<strong>  
><strong>Their haughty banner, trailed in dust,<strong>  
><strong>Is now their martial shroud.<strong>  
><strong>And plenteous funeral tears have washed<strong>  
><strong>The red stains from each brow,<strong>  
><strong>And the proud forms, by battle gashed<strong>  
><strong>Are free from anguish now.<strong>

**The neighing troop, the flashing blade,**  
><strong>The bugle's stirring blast,<strong>  
><strong>The charge, the dreadful cannonade,<strong>  
><strong>The din and shout, are past;<strong>  
><strong>Nor war's wild note, nor glory's peal<strong>  
><strong>Shall thrill with fierce delight<strong>  
><strong>Those breasts that nevermore may feel<strong>  
><strong>The rapture of the fight.<strong>

**Like the fierce Northern hurricane**  
><strong>That sweeps the great plateau,<strong>  
><strong>Flushed with triumph, yet to gain,<strong>  
><strong>Come down the serried foe,<strong>  
><strong>Who heard the thunder of the fray<strong>  
><strong>Break o'er the field beneath,<strong>  
><strong>Knew the watchword of the day<strong>  
><strong>Was "Victory or death!"<strong>

**Long had the doubtful conflict raged**  
><strong>O'er all that stricken plain,<strong>  
><strong>For never fiercer fight had waged<strong>  
><strong>The vengeful blood of Spain;<strong>  
><strong>And still the storm of battle blew,<strong>  
><strong>Still swelled the glory tide;<strong>  
><strong>Not long, our stout old Chieftain knew,<strong>  
><strong>Such odds his strength could bide.<strong>

**Twas in that hour his stern command**  
><strong>Called to a martyr's grave<strong>  
><strong>The flower of his beloved land,<strong>  
><strong>The nation's flag to save.<strong>  
><strong>By rivers of their father's gore<strong>  
><strong>His first-born laurels grew,<strong>  
><strong>And well he deemed the sons would pour<strong>  
><strong>Their lives for glory too.<strong>

**For many a mother's breath has swept**  
><strong>O'er Angostura's plain -<strong>  
><strong>And long the pitying sky has wept<strong>  
><strong>Above its moldered slain.<strong>  
><strong>The raven's scream, or eagle's flight,<strong>  
><strong>Or shepherd's pensive lay,<strong>  
><strong>Alone awakes each sullen height<strong>  
><strong>That frowned o'er that dread fray.<strong>

**Sons of the Dark and Bloody Ground**  
><strong>Ye must not slumber there,<strong>  
><strong>Where stranger steps and tongues resound<strong>  
><strong>Along the heedless air.<strong>  
><strong>Your own proud land's heroic soil<strong>  
><strong>Shall be your fitter grave;<strong>  
><strong>She claims from war his richest spoil -<strong>  
><strong>The ashes of her brave.<strong>

**Thus 'neath their parent turf they rest,**  
><strong>Far from the gory field,<strong>  
><strong>Borne to a Spartan mother's breast<strong>  
><strong>On many a bloody shield;<strong>  
><strong>The sunshine of their native sky<strong>  
><strong>Smiles sadly on them here,<strong>  
><strong>And kindred eyes and hearts watch by<strong>  
><strong>The heroes sepulcher.<strong>

**Rest on embalmed and sainted dead!**  
><strong>Dear as the blood ye gave;<strong>  
><strong>No impious footstep here shall tread<strong>  
><strong>The herbage of your grave;<strong>  
><strong>Nor shall your glory be forgot<strong>  
><strong>While Fame her record keeps,<strong>  
><strong>For honor points the hallowed spot<strong>  
><strong>Where valor proudly sleeps.<strong>

**Yon marble minstrel's voiceless stone**  
><strong>In deathless song shall tell,<strong>  
><strong>When many a vanquished ago has flown,<strong>  
><strong>The story how ye fell;<strong>  
><strong>Nor wreck, nor change, nor winter's blight,<strong>  
><strong>Nor time's remorseless doom,<strong>  
><strong>Can dim one ray of glory's light<strong>  
><strong>That gilds your deathless tomb.<strong>

"What happened in Libya reminded me of this poem, originally written to pay tribute to those who died in the Spanish-American war. " - Ran


End file.
